“Sir, did I just hear a rattlesnake?” The officer asked, the colossal wall of Mt. Blanca framing his head. I didn’t want to full-on say yes, but I could not deny that the officer heard not one rattlesnake, but rattlesnakes—plural. I blinked up at my reflection, tinted blue in his typical issued aviators, and smiled. I could have said in chorus with him the next bit; as he leaned into my rolled-down window. “License and registration, please.” I was hoping Susan; my sometime girlfriend had not been in the glove box. If she had, then the papers might not be covering my gun. Swallowing I turned real slow, hoping luck was on my side.

If she hadn’t, then the Glock nine mil would still be discreetly covered by papers and wrapped in a red bandanna. I tried to remember the last time she had been in the car, and if we had argued. Susan was a bit rough around the edges and liked to slam around my car when she was pissed off. I decided it had been a month or so, and I had used my gun since then. I packed illegally, my rap sheet a bit longer than I liked. Bad Luck seemed to follow me in a hopscotch pattern of years. I glanced at the stern face of the sheriff’s deputy who was a long way from Cottonwood. I swallowed spit and reached slow, popping the latch. The glove box door swung down as I held my breath. The wrapped gun was thankfully covered and out of sight.

I snagged the papers and handed them over. I always kept my wallet on the dash. I guess you could say I get pulled over a lot and through force of habit, found it an excellent idea to have it close rather than in a back pocket. Cops are generally jittery out here in this valley with the tweakers, hippies, and aliens. I gave him the license. He studied the plastic card and flipped through the papers like they were his very own divorce decree. He glanced between the card and my face and did not seem to see the resemblance. Which there would not be as the guy on the card was not quite as good looking. “Bill Hardy?” “Yep”

Behind me, the snakes were getting testy like they had taken offense at being pulled over. I wasn’t too sure of the count, but at least six were jammed in a box across the back seat. I had covered it in a burlap potato sack, but you just can’t hide the racket that a full box of snakes can produce. “Do you have a Commercial Wildlife Permit for the snakes?” “For what?” I asked, stalling. The corners of his mouth rolled into a downturn. The snakes hissed and rattled behind me. I glanced back, sweat dripping down my brow. “Um, no officer,” I said as casually as possible. “They’re pets…” He leaned in; his face set grim. The devilish sun radiated down, making the mountains waver like oil through the windshield.

“Sir, in Colorado, it is not permissible to have rattlers without a license.” I just shrugged. I knew the law but also knew my purpose in having them. “Please get out of the vehicle, sir.” he said, stepping back. Behind my seat, the rattlers buzzed. I shook my head, realizing that the good day was quickly going sour—nothing like the law to mess up a man’s day. The trooper shifted on his feet, unable to hide both his anxiety and his annoyance. “Out of the car, sir.” I popped the door, showing my hands. There was no sense in getting the officer all worked up. He searched me, lifting my Hawaiian hibiscus shirt to find a knife at my waist and in my boot, and then cuffed me leading me to the back of the car. The officer looked pissed, especially when I smiled at him. He went to his patrol car, watching as if daring me to do something stupid.

I didn’t.

I was sweating balls when he finally walked back, calling in on his shoulder radio. He headed on past me to my driver’s side door. I think he meant to search it as he leaned on the driver’s side. I just watched, somewhat bored and fucking hot. I was staring at Mt. Blanca tripping out over a dust devil to the west when I heard him scream. Quick as shit, I saw his body go stiff, and then he fell backward, holding his neck and right after slithered one of the snakes. The snake must have been all riled-up because it went directly after him, like its feelings were hurt.

The officer rolled around, trying to use his legs to push away, all the while grasping at his neck. The snake rose, swaying like one of those king cobras. It paused, then launched at the man biting him over and over. I screamed like a bitch. I’m not sure it hissed or if my brain just added the sensory overdub to make it more frightening. Either way, I almost pissed myself. The officer cried out, his mouth wide open, looking at me with crazy eyes. I shrugged at him, kind of jumping up and down, wondering what he thought I could do at the moment. The truth was, I could do nothing at all with my hands cuffed behind my back. Well, I could do something, but snakes in this sort of mood are beyond dangerous, and I didn’t want to die today.

The snake was acting like a rabid animal biting him all over his body. I had never seen anything like it. I finally decided I should probably do something and inched closer. I moved slowly because snakes are a bit like an officer of the law in how nervous they could be, and I respected both—mostly. I followed the crazy movements of the reptile. If I made a mistake, both of us would be bloated ant-covered corpses when the deputy’s coworkers found us. I waited until the snake had its head on the ground and stomped it. Typically, I would have cut the head, but my knives were on the hood of the car, and my hands were useless behind my back.

The officer had stopped me out on road G, which was a little bit of gravel and a whole lot of sand. I chose the shitty road because the police usually wouldn’t try their tires or luck out here. The back roads required that you let the air out of your tires to get some decent traction. Right now, it made killing the snake under a boot a bit more complicated, and the snake was pissed off royal. Every time I tried to smash it; it just went further down into the sand. “Yo, Officer, you gotta roll off a bit!” I yelled, the full body of the snake wrapping up violently around my leg. It, for sure, did not want to die.

The officer moaned and shook, his body writhing in pain. I had thought of letting up the pressure and jogging backward, seeing if the snake would just slither off. It seemed, in this instance, to be the only option. “Come on, man, move!” I yelled. The officer tried, screamed, and then collapsed in a concerning stiff non-living sort of way. I cursed at the snake that whipped around my leg, the infernal rattle droning on. I stood for close to half an hour, my skin turning red under the blistering sun. Nothing seemed to move around me except the damn snake that was finally growing exhausted. Some vultures swooped overhead for a bit, impatiently waiting for me to move away from the body of the officer.

I wondered if I could be prosecuted for the natural behavior of the snake. I know I had locked the box, and it’s not like they were dogs who could bite their way out. Probably didn’t matter, because now with the sun-cooked corpse of a dead deputy on the road and a lanky forty-something in a Hawaiian shirt, hands cuffed, and standing on the head of a snake was the next ridiculous problem. The situation would be funny if it weren’t so sad compared to what I had set out to do. A man needs to question their choices when stuck in a situation such as this. I calculated that it would take about an hour or more before the sheriff’s department sent out another car. The county was huge and sparse; that’s why people like me came to this part of Colorado; it was easy to stay under the radar.

I thought about the explanation I would have to tell the next officer. They already had one of my aliases called in by the dead stiff in the road and the make and model of my car. The plates were stolen, and my actual name was Mike, so I had that going for me. I still had cuffs on and a batshit-crazy rattler below my boot; two problems that needed fixing. I decided on raising my boot and scuttling back as quickly as possible. The snake would move fast, but I hoped it would head for the rabbitbrush and not me.

I waited for the snake to unwind from my leg, then let up and jumped back. I like to think I am relatively agile; after all, I caught the damn snakes on my own, but my feet tripped me up, and I fell hard, landing on my back. I lay on the hot gravel and sand stunned. Shaking my head, I looked over to where the snake seemed to be waiting. The rattler skittered off a few feet then coiled as if it knew I was the cause of all its problems. Helpless on my back with my hands cuffed below me I tried to push further away with the heels of my boots. The rattle of the snake was loud, and it was shaking out a song of retribution. I rolled, catching my boot on the back tire. The snake uncoiled, slowly slithering in my direction. I could see the venom dripping off the bastard’s fangs. I clenched my eyes shut, then opened them again at the sound of the dead officer’s corpse letting off-gas. It was the slow, wet fart of the dead man that startled the snake into the brush quick as shit.

I have experienced many things in my life but being saved by a dead man’s fart was a first. I waited to see if the snake would return, but it didn’t. I labored to get on my feet and went over sitting down hard next to the saving corpse. I had to turn my back to try to get my hands close to him, angling my fingers into his tight pockets. Finally, finding the key, I pulled it out with my fingertips. It took acrobatics to get the cuffs unlocked and off my bleeding wrists. Standing up, I looked around; sweat rolled off my body. I glanced west and east to both mountain ranges looking for dust heralding the approach of the reinforcements. Seeing nothing but sage, blue sky, and the infernal sun, I allowed myself a sigh of relief. I glanced down at the sun-cooking corpse and stumbled back a couple of feet bent over, trying not to vomit. I got back into my car, checking to see if the other snakes were secure. I lifted the burlap to find the critters sluggish in the heat of the vehicle; all but one accounted for. I looked over the box, hinges, and all but couldn’t figure out how only one got out. I didn’t question it though; it was an odd sort of saving grace. I jumped back out and snagged my knives, stashing them in their hiding spots. I would have been pissed if I had left my prints for the sheriff’s department. I started the car up, driving off-road around the body. I hit the gas, kicking up gravel and dust while fishing around on the floorboard for my whiskey. Never did a drink hit the gut with more pleasure. I took side roads watching the rearview mirror for pursuit, but none came. After zigzagging across the valley, I finally reached my old Winnebago.

My dog Dirt was happy to see me as I pulled in. He jumped around my legs as I unloaded the snakes, shoving them under the trailer. I wouldn’t get paid if the snakes were cooked. The customer wanted them fresh and alive. I then decided that throwing a tarp over the car might also be a good plan and bungee corded one over the old Ford LTD. I wasn’t too worried it would be spotted, or even if it did, connected to the incident as there were quite a few of them in the valley. Exhausted, I pulled the door of the trailer and climbed the three steps, Dirt just behind. Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, I threw myself on the couch. I petted the mangy dog and replayed the day in my head a few times. Snakes generally bit once and slunk away. Snakes also typically didn’t go full-on bat shit. While I considered the reptile brain and all, getting the box open and just launching an attack was over the top. It was like the rattler exhibited higher-order thinking, and I got to wondering if the box of snakes was some lousy mojo waiting to further shit on me. I needed to get them delivered quickly. My cell phone rang in my pocket, giving me a jolt. I fished it out and flipped it open, taking one more swig of the beer before talking.

“Mike?”

“Yeah?” I said. “Running late?” The voice asked as much as presumed. “Yeah,” I said, setting down the beer to scratch an armpit. “I ran into some trouble, but I got em.” “Gonna bring them over?” “Yeah, man, after dark if that’s ok?” “Sure, Mike, sounds good.” The guy hung up, and I traded the phone for the beer. I didn’t know the dude, but he was paying me for as many snakes as I could wrestle up. I generally didn’t ask questions. I made my living picking up stuff no one else would and delivering it to folks no one wants to know. This week it had been wrangling rattlers in Penitente Canyon. Illegal as hell, but seriously, who cares? I just looked like an old hippy trying to find crystals from the rock holes and old mine shafts to sell.

The promised pay wasn’t bad either. I mean, you should get paid reasonably well if you’re sticking your head down an old mine shaft. Dark holes in this part of the country can kill you with noxious gasses and dens of everything from rattlers to mountain lions. My work gave a certain kind of freedom you can only find in this part of Colorado. I wasn’t the only one, nor was I the craziest; my customers usually put me to shame in that department. I drank my beer, then popped open another. Dirt finally settled down on the floor at my feet; it was hot, and neither of us wanted to move much. The real shit show would start later when I loaded the box back into the Ford, heading out to deliver them. There was always a bit of danger in that, especially when I barely knew a customer.

After napping through sunset on the San Juans, I loaded up the snakes, fed Dirt, and changed my shirt. I switched out the plates used during the snake incident to some rusted ones I stole in New Mexico. For some reason, if you had a crappy car from New Mexico, they didn’t bother you. I headed north on 17 and took a few different shitty roads to the address; if you could call it that. All I found was a big old cattle gate, brown rusted since last century. I parked the car and got out with my bottle of whiskey, tired of the ominous buzzing of the snakes. The cloudless sky was choked full of stars. I leaned against the car, waiting for the buyer.

After a while, I could see headlights headed my way on the gravel road beyond the gate. It was some sort of ATV. As it got closer, I made out two riders, one of which had a rather imposing silhouette. The ATV stopped, with a plume of valley dust further obscuring my view. The big guy got off, unfolding his frame till he stood a whole foot taller than me. I was a bit blinded from the lone headlight, but soon enough, the ATV turned and headed back up the road leaving only starlit darkness. The big guy unlocked the gate and came through. He looked a bit like Kenny Rogers in the Gambler days with big beefy hands and the white beard. He smiled, and I’m not sure why but this bothered me a bit. We shook hands wordlessly, and he looked in the passenger window, not in the least bothered by the buzzing.

“I’m Lonny,” He said, his voice sounding like it had on the phone. “Mike.” He snorted and then spat on the ground. “Damn allergies,” he said before continuing. “I thank you for getting them. The snakes I mean.” He said it with a reverential tone like I picked up his children for church. “Yeah, no problem. Uh, how are you getting them wherever you need them?” “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind driving them up.” I looked in his face to see if I should be worried and decided that I should be a bit on guard with that smile. “Uh, sure. Yeah, no problem.” “It gets all confusing on the roads, best If I drive up,” He said as if reading my mind.

He got into the driver’s side; never mind if I cared to drive or not. I took a big gulp of my whiskey and got in the passenger side, comforted in part that my nine mil was right at my knees. We started up the road, only pausing so I could lock the gate for him, and then continued driving on what hardly seemed to be a road at all. My car was old and not up to the punishment, and I could feel myself wince at every rock we hit, and we hit quite a few. I looked over at Lonny driving my car, still grinning in the most disturbing way imaginable. It was like he got the smile out of a box and slapped it on his face. Usually, this kind of arrangement was not to be done as I had a healthy reverence for life most days. The folk that lived this far removed from the main drag were, like me, wanting to hide something. Figure in the snakes in the back seat, and you had yourself a character who was not the sort you would be kicking back a beer with on a slow Sunday.

“Your place far?” I asked. “Naw, not much further.” He answered, looking at me with the stupid grin. Lights dingy and yellow showed as we crossed a hill, but they seemed to be coming from below the ground. We pulled up and parked next to a bulldozed pile of dirt. He got out, so I did too, waiting for his lead as it was his place, not my own. The rise of ground we parked in front of was the top of a berm above a deep dug pit that contained what appeared to be Earthship buildings. This was not uncommon, especially for those who wanted privacy. People out here dug deep in the ground building homes, usually out of old tires and bottles, and they covered the structures with dirt and adobe. They called it an ecological building that was earth-friendly, and I suppose it was. However, I embraced caution as this man might live in the same sort of way the snakes did. The only way you would know they were here was by air, and I guessed they shot down any drones that came by.

“Nice place you got,” I said. Lonny just grinned wider until I thought it might crack the shell of his pumpkin-like face. He got out, and I followed real slow, waiting until he was going around the car to snag my gun and tuck it in the back of my belt, pulling my shirt over it. We worked together to get the snakes out, walking the box to a gate that surrounded the place on top. He opened it, and we carried the snakes down a long set of steps made from railroad ties and dirt. Four structures were painted up on the front in rainbow colors, and sugar candy skull faces. It was nicely done but creepy as fuck.

A woman came out of one of the structures with dirty blond dreads piled on top of her head. She was somewhat pretty, but as she got closer, I noticed her eyes were a bit crossed and the kind of blue you associate with psychotic tendencies. I know the type. She had the same kind of smile as Lonny, and this worried me. She pulled a goat by a rope behind her and tied it to a small post in the yard. She whispered some words to the animal then walked over to where we stood, the box at our feet. “This here is my wife Kitten,” Lonny said, throwing a fat arm around her. Their eyes met, and they looked like they were trading messages using telepathy.

Kitten was considerably younger than Lonny, her face unwrinkled, and her lips still pert, and I wondered how he had found her. Unions here were often of the oddest sort. Many men in the valley had this old west notion of seeking a younger partner and pushing out babies as if they were raising the next generation of humans on their own. Such couples were usually lopsided with wrinkled old dudes with barely out of childhood young women. To be honest, it creeped me out, but that might be my inclination to tangle with women in my age bracket. I mean, it’s nice when you can recall the same toys from childhood rather than buying them for your mate. I’m jaded, I know.

I looked but didn’t see anyone else, so I assumed she had been the ATV driver from the gate. I nodded to Kitten and looked around; it was late summer, so everywhere were the sunflowers that popped up this time of year. There were organized piles of recycling and a large fire pit prominently located in the center of the compound. “Earthships are great except for the mice,” I said, giving them a reason to explain a need for the rattlers. “We ain’t got no mice,” Kitten said, smiling up at Lonny before squatting down beside the box and whispering, “Hello, sweet babies.”

“Come on, Mike, I’ll show you around and get ya paid,” Lonny said, using an arm to direct me down a narrow path. I followed, turning my head long enough to see Kitten weaving her head near the snakes. For a moment, I swore I saw a forked tongue come out of her mouth and then thought better of it. After all, I had been dealing with snakes all freaking day. “Uh, your wife safe with all those pissed off snakes?” I asked Lonny as I followed him. “Oh, she loves snakes,” He answered nonchalantly.

The first structure we came to is what I would call the big house; it had a kitchen, living room, and a bedroom. I had to admit it was well built, not at all like a dark hole in the ground. Lonny seemed proud of it and pointed out the stone fireplace and stone cut floors. It was full of plants and almost seemed jungle-like with vines going everywhere. In a way, I felt like I was in a large terrarium full of humidity and flowers. It reminded me of the Brookfield Zoo back from my childhood Chicago days. When I looked closer, I saw all kinds of lizards and snakes hidden amongst the foliage. They were free to roam the place, and I had to wonder if they woke up with them in their sheets. I saw many webs in there too and didn’t want to know the spiders that belonged to them. I hated spiders.

We went into another structure that was a certified greenhouse with the expected flowers, herbs, and pungent weed, of course. Everything seemed beyond my imagination in size and health. I wondered what kind of plant food they used to get Marijuana the size of pine trees. I suppose if I was a weed smoker, I would have been in heaven and might have requested my pay in pounds of the stuff. However, I didn’t partake in finding weed just made me trip balls like I had ingested some psychedelics. Beer and whiskey were my preferred mode of relaxation.

Next was the well and battery house for the huge solar panels south of the compound, as Lonny explained. This structure was more of a hole in the ground that seemed less hospitable with a gnarly mass of black widow webs all over. Lonny went on about sustainable living and solar power, which was apparently how they had lights on-way out here. I asked the expected neighborly questions and kept waiting for the man to pay me. Outside, Lonny paused, the smile finally sliding off his face; he shoved his hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable.

Of course, I thought, this is where he tells me he doesn’t have the money. I hated it when this happened cause I had to bend my usually chill personality into that of an asshole. I watched him struggle for words, then, after pausing, smiled and gestured for us to continue the walkabout. We came to the last structure, which was a smaller version of the house. As we went in, I noticed it had been abandoned for a long time; it was dark with only one tiny window about my head’s size and smelled of mouse shit. I turned around in the place, beginning to form a question. Before I could speak, Lonny explained that this had been their first home, his voice warm with remembrance.

I turned around in the place when out of nowhere, Lonny hit me with a shovel; I had missed him picking up. It hit hard, pain jolting through my skull, sending me to my knees. Blood trickled down my head and out of my mouth. I spit out a tooth; my brain was full-on rung. “Fuck you, Lonny! What the fuck!” I yelled, putting both hands on my head. “Sorry, friend-O.” That was all Lonny said as if he were straight out of a Cormac novel. He patted down my waist, found my gun, and snatched it. He then saluted me, turned, and exited, throwing the door closed. Outside I could hear him setting a lock. I struggled to stand, my head pounding, and grabbed at the window ledge. I could see his back as he walked away, dragging the shovel. “You better fucking let me out of here!” I bellowed, beating on the crumbling adobe walls.

I kept at it for a while, but no one came back to let me out with an excuse of it being a joke. I tried kicking the door, but it wouldn’t budge. I paced a bit, trying to figure out a way of escape. I reached for my knives but then remembered that I had left them back in the Winnebago when I had changed my shirt. I cursed myself for being so stupid. Beyond the window, I could see the beginnings of a fire glimmering. Lonny walked around it, throwing on wood and gasoline, making the flames lick high. Several things ran through my mind, and none of them good. If they were going to cook me, then I needed to scratch up a plan. I didn’t want to die tonight. Not at the hands of these assholes.

I have lived here in this valley long enough to see what it does to people. The lack of law enforcement and the miles of nothing made ordinary folk go a bit crazy. I couldn’t even begin to count the number of people who went missing yearly. I wondered how many came to Lonny’s delivering snakes and never went home. I damn well was going home, if not fully paid. I couldn’t see anything in the strange environment, just the scene beyond the window, and it was getting bizarre. Kitten had taken her strange head weaving dance and applied it to her hips; she was starting to prance around the fire and was breaking out into an unintelligible song and yelling. This went on a while, then she launched herself on Lonny, who was laughing, and they started acting like a couple of teenagers getting frisky. I sat down to figure out the damage to my head. I had a pretty good gash above my ear, and my face felt tender. My mouth stopped bleeding, and I tongued the space where my tooth had been.

I got up and paced some more, hoping to rid myself of the headache. I hoped that this was part of some red-neck practical joke gone a bit south. I looked back out the window; both Kitten and Lonny were naked. Their white asses shining in the moonlight like wet melons, their arms outstretched like they were doing voodoo. Lonny dropped his arms after a while and walked over to the goat they had tied up when I first came in, undid the rope, and brought it over to the fire. I just kept looking half expecting them to throw it on the fire or some other crazy shit. It’s when they both started prancing around and petting the animal that I got worried for the goat.

Their heads rolled back in unison, and when they dipped back down in the firelight, I saw their mouths crowded with impossibly long fangs that had not been there before. Lonny and Kitten both lunged for the goat, sinking their teeth in. I nearly fell over in disbelief. Letting out a long, “f—ucking no way!” I bit my lip in replacement of the cigarette I wished I had to smoke and went back to the window. The couple was not eating the goat but suckling on it. Blood glistened down their bodies as they just sucked and laughed.

I felt vomit in my mouth and tried to swallow it down. It quickly became apparent that I was next on the menu. I dropped to the floor, feeling around the perimeter searching for anything to pry the door open. Though locked, I had absolute faith that the door was not as sturdy as it ought to be. My finger rutting around, I prayed hard none of the black widows would see me as a threat. I was pretty sure I felt a couple skittering around as I groped in the dark. I also tried not to upset the dirt so much as it would mean nothing to escape if I came down with the hantavirus. Finally, I felt something metal and bumpy like rebar and pulled it out from under an unfinished wall.

I stood up and felt along with the door frame, looking for the hinges. They were rusted as I had hoped, and there were only two. I popped them out as quietly as possible, pulled open the door, slipped out, and slipped the half-ass door back on the hinges. Kitten and Lonny were still doing their weird blood-sucking shit, so I moved as quietly as I could to a large Chamisa bush. The gate I came in was wide open, but it was also fully exposed. I figured I could try to take on the couple, but they might be on some drugs that gave them super-human strength or not feel pain. I also knew that places like this had stashes of illegal guns, gun control notwithstanding.

Across the way, I saw the now bloody nightmare of Lonny go for the snake box, dragging it near the fire. Kitten, with blood dripping down her chin, started her weaving dance again in the direction of the box. I guess I was going to find out what the damn snakes were for after all. Kitten opened her mouth with crazy teeth and rolled out a forked tongue. This was not the type one gets in somebody’s modification shop. Nope, this was identical to what comes out of a reptile’s mouth. “What the fuck kind of vampire, fucked up shit is this?” I said under my breath.

I crouched down and tried to crawl closer to the gate, still trying to keep an eye on the devils by the fire. Kitten opened the top of the box, and the snakes sensing freedom slithered out. At first, I was overjoyed. After all, if the snakes bite them, then it meant I could just look for my money and walk right out. But instead, the snakes just coiled up at both of their feet, docile as pet dogs. One of the snakes, Kitten, just picked up as one did a cat and rubbed it all over her face. The snake seemed to like the cuddles as if its mamma had picked it up. I about fell over; nothing was right in this world as far as I was concerned.

I knew I should be trying to exit, but the scene before me was tripping me up. Lonny turned, looking to the door where I was supposed to be locked up behind. He was still smiling, but some kind of frothy goo was seeping out of his eyes and the corners of his mouth. His head swiveled back and forth, reminding me of the officer writhing when the snake killed earlier. Something was very wrong about this whole deal.

The goo kept coming, and the scene was so disgusting that I got the heaves, choking, and trying to hold it back, not wanting to make a sound. Within seconds more of the shit was coming out of Lonny. His mouth seemed to be elongating from ear to ear like something was trying to slip out. The same thing was happening to Kitten. I watched horrified as the dreads on her head started slipping off her skull, pulling the skin with them. I have to say, I often wondered if dreads got too heavy if they just fell off, but this was unnatural like she was slipping out of her skin. It was not only her but Lonny also; their flesh was just stretching and rolling down, leaving a metallic sheen of greens and blues ridges in replacement. The skin just dropped sloughed loose, like sludge pooling below both of their knees. The rattlesnakes around their feet raised their heads, trance-like cobras out of a basket.

I closed my eyes, wondering if I had been hit on the head harder than I thought. I had to get out of this place. I didn’t want to see what was coming up next. I opened my eyes and forced myself to move in a crouching sort of walk towards the gate. I chanced a look and saw that what had replaced Lonny and Kitten was sort of reptile in its iridescent scaly skin. They moved in the way the rattlers were, coiling just beyond the firelight. My heart was pounding out of my chest, and my brain was frying, not able to rectify what my eyes were seeing. The human flesh just continued to drip down with an audible squishing sound, and the demented forms left just flopped on the ground.

The buzzing rattle sound I had come to hate today got louder—supplemented by new, high-frequency metallic sounds of the recently changed Lonny and Kitten. They moved in wet floppy motion towards the building I thankfully no longer occupied, smashing down the sunflowers as they went. One reared up and began pressing against the door as if it knew how to open it. The moonlight shone across the head just right, illuminating fangs as long as my hand and dripping venom and goat blood.

I shrieked in horror, it was not manly, but there was no other way to express how I was feeling just then. I screamed, and I sprinted for the gate, whipping it open and making a beeline for my car. I could hear the creatures behind me slithering faster than I would have thought possible. Things were crashing behind me and hissing, and yes, they hissed as you hear in a B horror movie, but this was real, and way more fucked up.

I ripped open the car door and got the engine started. It roared to life, and I slammed it into gear, but not before those monsters had launched themselves at my car. Their bodies were massive, as wide as car tires, and I could hear the metal frame of my LTD screeching under the weight. Big loops of snake body covered the windshield, oozing mucus on the windshield, as they beat their heads on the side windows. My car was old and not outfitted with the new fancy glass, so I watched in panic as small fractures began to form. I hit the gas, hoping they would just slide off; I could barely see as I tried to stay on the road and not hit every rock the mountains had thrown off eons ago.

I felt the old Ford shudder sandwiched between rock and snakes. The vamp snakes continued to attack the windows, and finally, the driver’s side shattered. I grabbed my bottle of Jack at the neck and started beating the heads of the things, hollering as I wildly turned the wheel. I had very few options, and one of them was dead. I kept screaming and cursing, but it was impossible to keep up my assault with the bottle and drive.

“Fuck you, cocksuckers!” I hollered, hitting one of the creature’s square on a fang. The curved oozing fang busted and ricocheted across the car. Venom and I suppose lizard and goat blood dripped on the inside of the door and sizzled hot like battery acid. Some of the poison sprayed on my arm, causing my skin to sizzle and cook. I was full-on driving and crying, slapping at my arm, and veering off the road. My driving was erratic, and I wasn’t sure how I managed to stay on what little road there was. The pain was unbelievable as I watched the meat of my arm disintegrate and pop like bacon. I started to feel heat boiling in my blood and then a strange numbness creeping up my arm and across my chest.

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I saw the gate ahead and hoped my old Ford could take it out. I smashed through the gate, going seventy miles an hour, and watched as my fender flew. We careened down the road as the roof began to give from the weight of their serpent bodies. I dunked further down; my chest was clenched in what I was sure was a heart attack. The pain was such that I was quickly tunneling into unconsciousness. All I could hear was the engine’s crunching and the rattle and hiss of Lonny and Kitten.

In the distance, an orange band of light across the horizon heralded the dawn. The vicious heads of the things were snapping at me as I beat them continuously with the bottle. I wasn’t even sure how my arm was still working and even less sure how the bottle had not shattered. I got about one hundred yards, and the most peculiar thing began to happen. Lonny and Kitten started screaming. Their bodies were beginning to smoke and sizzle. I looked at the sun and then back at them, realizing I was not the only one who got so caught up in shit that I forgot something else on the planner. I watched their shimmering skin as it boiled, flamed up, and then grew ashy. We all know how vampires feel about light; turns out, it’s all true. Bits and pieces of Kitten and Lonny began to float off in the air.

Dumbfounded, I watched the first one, then the other pull their head away, and then they both stared at each other like doomed lovers. It would’ve been as tragic as hell if they had not been hunting me right then. They started screaming in vocalizations that were much more human the more they melted away. I don’t know if it was on account of the sunrise coming or some witchy boundary I had crossed. Either way, they continued to dry and then curl like snakeskin you see on the side of the road until they were light enough to just float off the car in big sheets, peeling in layers.

I hit the brakes, clutching at my chest. Within minutes their bodies just fragmented and fell away from the car. I sat in the Ford for a minute, too afraid to move, and opened the bottle of whiskey. I looked in the rearview mirror, checking the damage to my face and then down at my melted bleeding arm. I was dizzy, and my chest was seizing in pain. My arm hurting like hell was black and plastic-like in places but no longer smoking.

I got out, and the hazy sun was a welcome sight. I walked behind the car a considerable distance and saw big flakes of snakeskin in chunks as I went. I picked it up and found it just came apart in my hands. I walked further and came across the rattles that looked more like abandoned beehives at this point. I considered picking them up and throwing them in the trunk but then thought better of it as I wanted no chance of opening it later to find bits of Kitten and Lonny’s ass there.

I drove home, bumping along with a flat tire and a car with a bent frame. Dirt waited for me in the road and followed, barking up a storm as if telling me what a dumb shit I had been. I had heard stories like mine in some form, mostly about aliens and cattle mutilations. If someone had told me my account of events, I would have smiled and wondered what drugs they had been on. I wasn’t even sure I trusted my mind.

I got out of the Ford and stepped back, looking at the mangled mess of twisted metal. Dirt ran around excitedly and disappeared around the back end. I called for him, and he returned with a bit of the skin hanging from his mouth. I squatted down and put out my hand; Dirt dropped his trophy at my feet. I picked it up, swearing to myself that I would add snakes to the undeliverable list. Standing up, I let the scaly skin disintegrate in the sunlight. I looked up and westward to the San Juans and then turned east, taking in the distant Sand Dunes at the foot of Mt. Blanca. I shook my head a bit mystified. This whole valley was like the footprint of the devil, stomping on men like me. I thought about the ole snake yesterday, both of us had our heads in the sand, but we somehow got away. I always have a little bit of luck left to spend.

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Twisted Pulp Magazine Issue #3